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for that.’
    I thought I saw a flicker of worry clouding Jupp’s face, but I might have been wrong.
    ***
    Lisa was less than impressed as we debriefed on the day’s events on the treadmills in the Pearson Malone gym.
    ‘Bloody amazing,’ she puffed. ‘They screw up… we take the rap… and they expect… us to re-save… the tax… they shouldn’t have… paid… in the first place.’
    ‘That’s about the size of it. Still, we should get a decent fee for sorting it out.’
    This was Lisa’s first session in the gym. She’d reluctantly started on the fitness trail, in case she needed a medical for a new job. I was still hopeful I’d persuade her to stay and turn things around, but it wouldn’t do her any harm to slim down however her life panned out. She switched off the machine and wiped the sweat from her face with a towel.
    ‘God... I wish… we’d gone… to the pub instead… this is torture.’
    ‘You’ll love it when you get into it,’ I promised her, although I feared my efforts to encourage her to keep fit were doomed to failure.
    ‘Nah… only until… I’ve had my… medical… bloody hate it. Actually… don’t think... you’re fitter than me…’ she gasped. ‘Not with all the booze you put away…’
    ‘You’re a fine one to talk. And smoking will kill you first.’
    ‘Ah, but you quit… when you were older… than me. At least… I’m not in denial… about any of my vices… only reason you do this… is to stay a size eight…’
    OK—being fit was overrated. Who wanted to live forever? But being in control of your body shape was a matter of pride.
    ‘Doubt there’s enough… capital allowances claim… to cover those losses,’ she continued breathlessly, as we made our way to the changing room. ‘Meanwhile… we take… the meeting and travel time… on the chin. You do realise… the slate mine’s... in the middle of nowhere… in Wales.’
    ‘I know, but I had to offer them something for free.’
    ‘Oh well, I suppose we can send Isabelle… to support the specialist… it’ll be cheaper than us going… and her folks live about twenty miles away.’
    ‘Really? I assumed she was Home Counties through and through—she doesn’t sound Welsh.’
    ‘I expect she went to a posh school, like you. But she told me her grandfather worked in the slate mine… which is why she wanted to be on the JJ service team.’
    ‘Incredible. Just think, in another two generations your family might be all polished and poised like her.’
    She fixed me with a beady stare.
    ‘So we’ll organise the meeting for a Friday and … our little princess can enjoy a weekend at home.’
    And she probably would have done, had she lived to make the journey.

5
    The night before the pay review I had the dream.
    Teetering piles of rubbish surrounded me, encroaching on my space before collapsing, entombing me beneath them. I clawed in vain at the debris above me as I struggled for breath.
    Clammy and fearful, I woke to the pungent odour of garbage, and the sensation of insects crawling on my skin. I threw off the duvet and examined the bed in detail. No bug in sight, but the fear and smell both lingered.
    I hurried to the shower and stood under near-scalding water, speculating on what might have precipitated this bout of dread. Sure, there would be some challenging conversations today, but I hadn’t been conscious of any worry about the pay review. Yet what else could have triggered the familiar nightmare?
    Ten minutes later, and satisfied that I’d removed the last vestiges of imaginary squalor, I set about blow-drying my hair.
    Now for the next challenge—who should I pretend to be today?
    Who I was came down to what I wore. I possessed a whole double wardrobe of designer outfits—my corporate armour. People saw the clothes first and made assumptions about the person who wore them. They were the props of the gigantic con act I perpetrated every day, pretending to be this savvy successful woman.